


No Shame, This Life, Beloved

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-War, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-19
Updated: 2008-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ron and Draco receive rather a shock at discovering the House Xavier is sorted into, though Ron is even more surprised when his new French intern, Jean-Luc, seems to fancy him. Especially when Ron realises hecouldbe capable of infidelity. Life has its surprises, conflicts and deaths, but through it, Draco and Ron seem to be able to hold fast to one another in their own sometimes tumultuous ways.





	No Shame, This Life, Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** My gratitude to hapendfro for her insights and commentary and not letting me put this out without revamping the epilogue.  
>  A/N: I started this in fall of '07; I then discovered Wraeththu and other things happened, like moving cross-country. I'd planned for this to be the final long installment in _Magical Immunity_ , and suspect it will be, but never say never. I love these two and this 'verse I first created back in January of 2005. For all who have read and enjoyed my stories in this world, thank you for your comments, your affection for them in this world, and for the art commissioned by stuckinsea created by the talented fuileachd. Art always welcomed, of course! I do hope you all enjoy this continuation in the story; it having been so long since the last one I don't know whether anyone in our R/D 'ship will even remember what happened last. When we last left our heroes (in "How Close the Divide"), Xavier had been summoned to Hogwarts a year earlier than usual and Ron and Draco had just put him on the Hogwarts Express. This story is also totally AU with actual canon by now; it does correlate with my "Cartography of Fire" series: George and Remus are handfasted, Severus survived the War, but barely, Harry was killed.

"Another round?" Ron suggested, though he knew he was only bringing it up to pass a bit more time.

"No. C'mon, finish up what you have and let's go home. To the Manor," Draco clarified, twirling the stem of his glass before finishing the last of his gimlet.

Ron nodded his agreement. He glanced around at the familiar ambiance of the Belligerent Badger, his thoughts snagged on the word 'home.' Ever since Draco had taken Snape out of St. Mungo's and brought him to live with them, they'd spent nearly all of their time at Malfoy Manor, especially since Xavier was also in their household. The flat the two of them had shared would've been cramped quarters once adding in a growing, rambunctious Weasley and a glowering former Death Eater whose war wounds left him incapable of living without assistance. Ron and Draco had put Xavier on the train to Hogwarts earlier in the day despite him being a year younger than the expected age of admittance. As the alcohol enticed out his melancholy feelings, Ron imagined the Manor with only the three of them, minus his nephew's outgoing personality.

"Ron, you look as though you've heard about yet another Cannons' loss. What are you moping about?" Draco asked as they got out from their booth and walked toward the door.

"It's just going to be so different at the Manor without Xavier there," Ron said, jamming his hands into his denims pockets. "If it weren't for Snape, we could spend most of our time at our flat. I liked our flat," he went on, hearing his own childish sullen tone and shaking his head.

"I like our flat too," Draco said pragmatically. He straightened up his collar as they ambled down the footpath to a narrow alley they tended to use to Apparate. "I know I could choose to spend my nights at our flat and do my baking and swimming at the Manor. Mostly it's important to me that Severus not spend the rest of what will hopefully be a very long life stuck away, forgotten, in St. Mungo's. The Manor is far better suited for his care."

Despite the fact that Snape and Ron were barely civil, Ron did admire Draco's compassion for his former Head of House. But Snape was easier to deal with when Xavier was there, as the two of them actually liked each other. Xave could be a pain in the arse at times, but Ron really hadn't been ready for him to go to school yet. His Hogwarts letter had totally taken all of them by surprise.

"For Merlin's sake! Stop brooding," Draco chastised, nudging Ron's shoulder to steer him into the alleyway. "Good thing I know of a couple of ways to pass the time and get your mind on other things until we hear from Xavier about his Sorting. It could be tomorrow, even," he purred, pressing Ron against the stone wall. His hands were suddenly gripping Ron's hips, yet their groins distressingly weren't quite touching. "You could be sore in the best ways imaginable by then."

Draco's voice wasn't low, but it was sensual, and just remembering the noises Draco had made their last memorable time in bed made Ron's cock begin to stiffen. Having a long shag — or two shorter ones — that perked Ron's spirits right up.

"Or you could be," Ron challenged, curving his arms around to grab a hold of Draco's arse, pulling him in until their bodies were flush from pelvis to chest.

"Oh no. My cock is going in your fine arse. Even if I have to tie you up to do it." Draco's grey eyes lit up as his tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip.

The blood thundered to Ron's cock. Draco wasn't often this aggressive, and right now it was about the sexiest threat Ron could imagine. "Maybe you'll need to," Ron said, leaning forward just enough so his open lips hovered centimetres from Draco's.

"Maybe I'll like that." Draco followed his drawled comment with a bruising kiss, his tongue making a commanding sweep through Ron's mouth before pulling away. "Let's get home. I'll need to check up on Severus first," he said, trailing a pale finger down the middle of Ron's breastbone. "But you can go straight to our bedroom."

"Reckon I'll do just that," Ron replied, easing forward for another kiss, this one less frantic but just as passionate.

After a few moments they stepped apart. The look in Draco's eyes mirrored Ron's, he was sure; he was ready to get to the privacy of their room. Ron put the image of the front steps on the Manor in his mind, focussed his intentions while closing his eyes, and passed through the body-flattening feeling to find himself at the front door. Draco appeared with a soft _crack!_ at almost the exact same time. Ron let Draco murmur the counter-spell to their wards and they went inside, Draco giving Ron's arsecheek a grope as he passed.

"Flissy!" Draco called, summoning their old house-elf that had come to them from one of Draco's French cousins. Flissy was nearly fanatical in his care of Severus and Xavier, and quite keen to spoil the latter. Ron guessed he wouldn't be seeing the floppy-eared creature as often in the future, but he shoved that thought aside as he walked to their bedroom. He went via the library, picking up a decanter of firewhiskey and two glasses.

Once in their room, he dropped his jacket on the floor. Thinking better of it, he hung it over the arm of a chair near their fireplace. He took time to relieve himself and brush his teeth before stripping down to his boxers and pouring himself a drink. Once eased into bed, he made himself comfortable against a plump assemblage of pillows, taking a deep swallow of the fiery liquid. Now all he needed was his lover. Alone in the large bed, with his fingers wrapped half-heartedly on his flagging erection and no other diversion, his thoughts resolutely returned to Xavier. Who would his friends be? Would he be made fun of because he was an orphan and his surrogate parents were queer? Would he fight back or break?

Ron's pelting barrage of currently unanswerable questions came to a merciful halt when Draco stalked into the room. He was all predatory grace and intent; wand in hand, he aimed at several points in the room, causing the lights to dim, candles to flare to light, a small fire to crackle cheerily in the fireplace, and a tendril of incense to send a faint patchouli scent into the air. When he turned his attentions to Ron, the scorching ferocity of his gaze revived Ron's libido.

"Get rid of your drink," Draco said, and Ron did while a bit sheepishly taking his hand out of his boxers. "Now lie down and get naked," Draco continued, his reedy baritone threaded with a satiny commanding quality that caused the blood to race to Ron's groin.

What Draco was up to Ron couldn't guess, which caused sparks of excitement to prickle on his skin. After tossing his pants onto the floor, he pushed the covers and sheets down, putting himself on display, anticipating what would happen. They'd been together for several years now; his pulse didn't speed up at every kiss and they had somewhat predictable sexual routines for the most part. On occasion, however, their passion was memorable. As heard the incantation and felt his wrists pulled out and lashed with silken cords to the bed posts, he realised this would be one of those encounters.

Neither he nor Draco said anything to each other. The domineering demeanour Draco had taken on provided unspoken anticipation as he took off his clothes, Ron watching avidly. Lust bloomed fire between Ron's legs and in his throbbing prick. They were both nearing thirty, but Draco was still as handsome as ever, with his angles and slender array of muscle that played under his skin. As he knee-walked up the bed alongside Ron's body, his stiffening cock twitched upwards. Draco's steely gaze raked over Ron, causing him to feel both vulnerable but also desired. Draco took himself in hand and Ron couldn't help it, he opened his mouth, hoping Draco would feed him his cock. Ron loved fucking Draco, of course, but he especially loved the sourmusk taste of his slick skin, the shaft sliding in and out as he sucked and feasted on the hard flesh.

With an almost pitying smirk, Draco painted damp brushstrokes on Ron's cheeks with the head of his cock, rubbing the domed top along his lips even as Ron made a pathetic gurgling sound low in his throat.

"You want this," Draco said, his voice husky and eyes glittering.

Ron nodded, sending out his tongue to lick at the vinegary fluid seeping from the slit, gratified when Draco's eyes closed for a moment at the contact. Tired of teasing, Draco pushed his hips forward, his length sliding into Ron's eager mouth. Draco set the pace he wanted, tilting his hips in and out as Ron slurped and licked, using his lips for friction.

"Gods, fuck, Ron… you're so good," Draco crooned, one hand grasping at the headboard while Ron craned his neck as best he could, given that his arms were spread wide apart.

Draco's praise for Ron's cocksucking drizzled down on Ron like warm honey. Ron had planted his feet on the sheets, humping fruitlessly up into the air, relishing the feel of slapping bollocks on his chin. His eyes flickered back and forth between Draco's pubic hair and his face. Draco had quit playacting; he seemed off in his own world, pinching at his pebbled nipples and thrusting into Ron's mouth, eyes shut, mouth partway open to let out whimpering moans. All of a sudden he came back to himself, pulling out of Ron's mouth with a wet pop.

"Want you," Draco said breathlessly, easing backward so that he was poised above Ron on his hands and knees. The look of desire and loving openness was so unexpected, Ron felt his guts clench at his own rush of needy affection. They really did utterly love each other. Despite all of their differences, and the arguments, and clashing perspectives on the world, Ron knew Draco had no desire to be with anyone but him and he knew just as strongly that Draco was the only one for him.

Draco leaned down, kissing Ron deeply and with a desperate fervour matched by Ron even though his jaw ached. Once his hunger for Ron's kisses was temporarily slaked, Draco quickly slid down Ron's body. He busied himself, giving him a thorough blowjob while Ron bucked and swore and groaned at how good it felt. He could sense the coiling tension tightening in his sacs and warned Draco to slow down.

"Want you to come first," Ron gasped.

He'd grown to enjoy sex with Draco like this, but he'd also discovered he really disliked being taken up the arse after he'd had an orgasm. Logically he'd have thought he'd be more relaxed, but for some reason, the building tension was better. With a last, languorous lick up the underside of his shaft, Draco planted a wet kiss on the crown of Ron's cock before Accio'ing some lubricant. He sat on his heels, his flushed chest rising and falling quickly as he liberally coated his cock.

"Legs up," he murmured and Ron complied, wrapping them around Draco's waist.

He braced himself against the burning squelch as Draco eased himself in, focussing on how good he must feel, so tight around Draco's shaft until the discomfort faded. Draco breathed out a ragged sigh of pleasure, rocking his hips in tiny movements until he could feel Ron's channel was adapting to the fullness. Within a few thrusts Draco was buggering him in earnest, long and deep, each smack against Ron's arse reverberating deep in Ron's body. All he did was hold on, clawing at the ropes that held his arms wide, feeling his swollen cock bump against his abdomen as Draco fucked him. Draco dropped down onto his hands, bowing Ron in half, kissing Ron feverishly as his hoarse voice said he was close and "Godsfucksodeep — Love you, Ron, loveyouloveyou _ohfuckcoming_ …"

The pummeling against his arse stilled and Draco's eyes closed, his neck arched back as Ron felt the release far within himself. His own cock was pressed against Draco's belly and the fine trail of hair, blood pounding in his ears as he sensed Draco easing down from his orgasm. Tenderly Draco sowed dry kisses from Ron's temple to his jaw, suckling on Ron's lower lip before sliding out of Ron's thoroughly used channel. Ron let his legs flop onto the bed, regaining his own breath now that there was no weight on his chest.

"Thank you," Draco breathed, the rosy tint of exertion on his pale skin from his face down to his ribs beginning to fade.

"Love you," Ron said, unembarrassed and at peace, albeit a bit sore.

"What would you like…?" Draco asked, wrapping his hand around Ron's sensitive cock.

"Your mouth's brilliant."

"I know it is."

Ron made a sound that was half growl, half laugh. "So quit talking and suck me."

Draco's eyebrow arched impressively, though the effect wasn't so haughty given his tousled hair and look of utter satiation. Regardless, he arranged his body so he was lying in the vee of Ron's legs, every bit of his attention fixated on bringing Ron to a bone-melting orgasm. Which he did, Ron yelling as his release pulsed out of him and down Draco's willing throat. Only after the pounding aftershocks had passed did Ron have the energy to appreciate Draco's very self-satisfied expression as well as notice that his shoulders were sore from being stretched out.

"You're amazing. Mind letting me loose?" Ron asked, his voice scratchy from breathing through his mouth.

"Not at all." Draco delicately wiped at the corners of his mouth with his fingers before scooting off the bed to retrieve his wand from the bedside table. He undid the binding spell and cast a couple of cleansing spells, and then joined Ron back in their bed. Ron rubbed at his shoulders and Draco looked at him worriedly. "That didn't hurt you, did it?"

"No. And it was really hot," Ron said, reassuring him as he enfolded Draco in his arms. He undulated his fingers at the base of Draco's spine, breathing in his refined scent, always present even when sweaty.

"I don't know what brought it on," Draco admitted, draping a long thigh across Ron's thicker leg. "But thanks for going along with me." He nuzzled Ron's jaw, carefully steering away from the goatee. "Sometimes I just want to fuck you senseless. Can't be helped."

Ron's lips twisted into a sideways smile. "No. I feel like that about you most of the time."

Draco snorted, but he sounded pleased. "I needed that. You were making me tense. Most unnatural."

"Unnatural? Usually I just piss you off so much you want to hex me back to the Founders Age."

"Exactly."

Ron growled happily, rolling on to his back and bringing Draco with him, still in a post-shagging glow. He gave his backside muscles a tentative squeeze, making a mental note to take a light pain potion before they actually went to bed later on. "You hungry?" he asked.

"I actually think I worked up an appetite," Draco drawled, pulling a stray hair behind his ear. "But I don't want to cook. Mind if we ask Flissy to make us something?"

"Not at all!" Ron was a bit surprised, but more than happy not to have to leave their bedroom, or even the bed, in order to eat. "Think we have any corned beef left?"

"Who knows. I'm going to need to get a separate fridge."

"I thought we already had two…" Ron eyed the firewhiskey and glasses on the bedside table, but Draco shook his head.

"We do. Business is going well and I'll need a third one for more of my work food. I'll get some wine, thanks." He captured Ron's gaze, sliding his hands down to cradle Ron's face, kissing him gently on the lips. "I'm glad your ridiculous goatee is finally soft," he said, running a thumb through the ginger hair.

"I thought you liked it," Ron insisted as Draco got up and put on his boxers and a dressing gown.

"Well, it does suit you, but I don't like having my skin rubbed raw. Flissy!"

"Oy! Not dressed, here!" Ron exclaimed, pulling the sheets up as the house-elf popped into being near their bedroom door.

"They don't care," Draco said dismissively. "Flissy, would you bring us up some meat and cheese sandwiches? Corned beef if we have it, I'm pretty sure we do, some crisps for Ron, an apple and a couple of wedges of brie for me, and a pitcher of water."

"Certainly, Master Draco," the house-elf replied, nodding its head and twisting its fingers. "Any news from Master Xavier?"

"No. Not yet."

With a last grovelling bow the house-elf vanished and Ron relaxed. He realised he really was hungry as he got out of bed to put his boxers back on and then a pair of well-worn tracksuit pants and top.

"So how is our resident bat?" he asked, earning a disapproving growl before Draco answered.

"Severus is okay, but only that. I almost wonder if he shouldn't have a Healer give him a thorough auralic and make sure there aren't some lingering effects to the Cruciatus'. Or perhaps the complexity of all that he was tortured with is mutating over time. Merlin only knows what he was subjected to before he showed his true colours; the Dark Lord didn't exactly kill his followers with kindness."

He paused, giving Ron a falsely innocent look. "Well! How convenient that we happen to have one of St. Mungo's finest here, in the house, in this very room."

"Draco," Ron warned. "Don't even say it. You know as well as I do that he won't let me anywhere near him with a wand."

"You're around him all the time with your wand," Draco said crisply. He made a pleased sound in his throat when a large platter with their dinner suddenly appeared on a serving-table in the middle of the room.

"Not the same," Ron insisted. "Me doing any healing for him is a non-issue. Forget it. He'd rather die than get my help, and you know I'm right. Which is fine by me," he added, picking up one of the corned beef sandwich triangles and tucking into it.

"Don't be a prick. I want you at least to do a once-over on him. I'll go with you and stay so he doesn't feel threatened."

"Like that'll help," Ron said through a mouthful of sandwich. "This Healer isn't making house calls."

"Oh yes you are."

Draco resembled his dead father so strongly for a flickering moment Ron nearly choked. "Please, Ron," he said, changing his tone and demeanour. "I really would feel better if you did. I think something's not right and he's being stubborn and won't say a bloody thing about it."

Ron felt the hot breath of shame blow through him at that comment. It was true; he'd been so afraid that he'd been dying of something that he'd hidden it from everyone in a twisted form of denial. Thankfully he'd been wrong, but having Draco point out that similarity didn't make him any more enthusiastic for Draco's cause.

"Fine," he grumbled, pouring himself a new glass of firewhiskey. "I suppose it'll be good to have you as a witness when he tries to put some Dark curse on me or attempts to manipulate or break my wand."

Draco didn't deign to reply, he just looked satisfied with himself and got down to the business of eating the gooey cheese he was so fond of. Eventually Ron brought up Draco's latest culinary projects in a veiled attempt at peacemaking, and they chatted about that for a time. Draco asked if Ron was going back to full-time work at St. Mungo's the following week. Ron said that his Healer, Raven Abbott, had given him his full approval to get back to his usual schedule.

"He said I might feel more tired than I used to, at least at first," Ron admitted grudgingly. "Guess I'll have to see how it goes. Depends on how many patients there are in my ward, as well. Merlin's saggy balls," he swore, gathering up the last of the crumbs of crisps and pouring them into his mouth.

"What?" Draco had eased out of his chair to pour himself another glass of wine after giving Ron a disdainful look at the way he'd cleaned up his plate.

"More training. I've a new intern starting on Monday, a bloke from St. Etienne. French."

"Quelle domage."

"Pardon?"

"'What a pity," Draco said, not sounding at all sorry.

"When did you learn French?" Ron asked, flabbergasted, but also feeling defensive about his far less cosmopolitan background.

"When we spent summers in Antibes," Draco replied. "I'm not really fluent, but I picked up a fair bit over the years. No doubt I've forgotten a lot as well."

"You know more than I do, and you've travelled loads more places. I guess I did go to Egypt that one time, and you took us on holiday to the Canary Islands…"

"I'm a good influence on you. You'd think you'd be used to that by now," Draco said imperiously before striding into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

The evening wore on. Ron did give Snape a pretty thorough auralic but didn't find anything out of the ordinary outside of the rather complicated mess of spell damage he had to live with. Hidden away in a distant corner of his heart, kept secret and unspoken, Ron housed pity for their former Potions master. After several years of living with Draco, Ron keenly knew what it was like being around someone for whom pride was an integral as breathing. Snape still clutched to his, tremulous hands and all, but he refused to give to Ron even a shred of the warmth he bestowed on Draco and Xavier. Ron knew that Snape knew he couldn't get away with outright malice, however, and in truth, he wasn't actively antagonistic. Very often.

Ron was pretty well into his cups, half-watching telly, which had two men fencing, and half-dozing when Draco nudged at him to come to bed.

"We're obviously not getting a parchment tonight." Draco didn't try to hide his disappointment, rubbing at Ron's shoulder and glancing over at their large television screen Ron had purchased a couple of years ago. "What is this?"

"The Olympics. Big Muggle sporting thing— have 'em for summer and winter, every few years, not exactly sure."

Draco seemed intrigued, but he took the channel-changer out of Ron's grip and turned the television off. "Bedtime."

Ron made rumbled grousing sounds, but allowed Draco to assist pulling him up from the couch. He got unsteadily to his feet, rubbing at his cheek where he'd been lying down on a scrunched-up pillow. "Can't believe he didn't write," he said sulkily as they made their way to their bedroom.

"He was probably all caught up in getting to know his new Housemates. You know how Xavier is." Draco turned and gave Ron a meaningful smile. "I suspect wherever he is, he already has two best friends and told them his life story and given away half of the treats I packed for him."

"I'll bet they're all gone," Ron said ruefully. "Gryffindors all seemed to have healthy appetites."

"Yes, but in Slytherin, his friends might actually offer to trade some of their own sweets, not simply take what's offered."

"We're not getting into this. 'm too tired, and we had a great shag, and I don't want to be cheesed off before I go to sleep," Ron said through a yawn, shuffling to their bathroom to brush his teeth.

"I think we should invite Lupin and your brother over for brunch tomorrow," Draco mused from the other side of the open door.

"Bit late for that, isn't it?"

"Maybe, but you know they'll be curious as well. No doubt you and George have a bet going, and I'll be interested to see who ends up with the galleons."

Ron coughed on the toothpaste in his mouth. Draco really did know him too well; of course George had bet him that Xavier would be in Slytherin, and Ron had put his money on Gryffindor. There was a smug chuckle as Draco discovered he was right.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, Ron slid into their wide bed, turning down the covers on Draco's side and waiting for him to join him. "What a long day," he said under his breath, at last giving into exhaustion.

Draco cast a _Nox_ on their lights and lay on his back. Ron draped an arm over Draco's chest, kissing his shoulder and letting his eyes drift closed.

"'Night," Draco said softly.

* * * * *

Draco had just taken the orange-cranberry muffins out of the oven when Xavier's fuscous barn own, which he'd inexplicably named Rufus, came flying into the kitchen.

"Is that Xavier's owl?" Remus asked, unpeeling a banana.

"Yep. George, hope you brought your ten Galleons," Ron said, his stomach beginning to churn again, uncertain whether it was good or bad that Xavier hadn't written until the next morning.

"'Course," George said, smirking. "But I'll be going home with more, mark my words."

"Severus, what are your thoughts?" Remus asked, pulling up a chair next to him.

Snape peered disdainfully down his nose, his twitching limbs held in his lap. "Though I wish it were otherwise, I have no doubt he'll be in Ravenclaw," he replied archly, nodding his thanks to Draco as he levitated a cup of coffee to a level even with Snape's mouth.

"Ron, perhaps you and I should just glance at it first, in case he's put something private in there just for our eyes," Draco suggested. "George, if you'd take care of the sticky rolls and anything else you see that should go on the table, that would be helpful."

Ron gave Rufus a couple of pieces of bacon, annoyed with himself when he realised his hands were trembling a bit. He just hoped that Xavier was happy, and had made friends, and that other students weren't giving him grief because of his very atypical home situation.

"C'mon Ron, go ahead and open it," Draco urged, blowing on a cup of tea. It was obvious from his state of agitation that Draco was as concerned as Ron, especially since Xavier hadn't written home the night before.

"I can't bloody stand it," Ron said through gritted teeth. "All right."

He unrolled the parchment and quickly scanned Xavier's tidy, block printed words. For a moment Ron stared, his eyes snagged on the word _Hufflepuff_. He blinked at it, his gaze darting further down the letter to see that Xave had stayed up for hours with his new Housemates, and that he had been singled out a bit for being a year younger than everyone else, but he didn't mind being a celebrity. One of his new dorm mates came from a Muggle family and didn't know anything about Weasleys, Malfoys, or Snape— but he'd been raised by his grandparents and uncle and knew what it was like not to have your real parents around.

"Well?!" George exclaimed, drumming his fingers on the counter. "You two are awfully quiet. He's okay, isn't he?"

Draco looked at Ron, the incomprehension no doubt mirroring Ron's own, before turning his attentions to their guests. "Xavier is in Hufflepuff. He's just fine."

Silence reigned for a few moments as George, Remus and Snape absorbed the news.

"That's… surprising," Remus said carefully.

"No bloody way!" George insisted, walking over and holding out his hand impatiently toward the small roll of parchment. "No Weasley has ever been a bloody Hufflepuff. Poor Percy's spinning in his grave right now."

"Hold off, I've not even properly read it," Ron said, exasperated. "Where're their dorms? The dungeons? I never went anywhere near the Hufflepuff rooms."

Draco was still reading as well, doubtless ingesting Xavier's enthusiasm and excitement. "He says that the Hat took a while to decide, and some of the Gryffindors looked disappointed, but he feels right at home in Hufflepuff. He's proud to be there, and we shouldn't worry. Or be mad that he's not in Gryffindor or Slytherin."

"Some of my best potions students were in Hufflepuff," Snape mused thoughtfully, raising a shaky arm to nudge his cup to his mouth.

George seemed to be in denial, staring at the letter once Draco had grudgingly handed it over. He continued to shake his head, his ginger eyebrows furrowed before looking to his bondmate for validation. "Remus— you were on staff. Did you all have meetings about students who were obviously put in the wrong House?"

"I'm sure Xavier is exactly where he should be," Remus said. "Now come sit down and let's eat these delicious-smelling treats Draco was so kind to make. I'm famished."

"How can you possibly think of eating? This is a family crisis!" George appeared incredulous.

"Xavier being in Hufflepuff is not a crisis," Draco said, his words heavy with warning and a scowl on his face. "I'll admit I really thought he'd be in Slytherin, or maybe Ravenclaw, but no doubt he'll be a tremendous asset to them. Like Cedric Diggory."

"Look what bloody well happened to him!" George said, gesticulating wildly. "And besides, I'd already bought Xavier a Slytherin tie, and you can't imagine how traumatising an experience that was!"

"Hufflepuff isn't worse than Slytherin," Ron said defensively. He was still shocked and at a loss because he'd hardly known any Hufflepuffs during his years at Hogwarts, just the few who were in the DA. Well, there had been Cedric whom, as George noted, had met rather an untimely and shocking end. Ron would support Xave no matter what, though. "Maybe he didn't want to be in either of the two Houses that Draco and I had been in, or even Percy. Too much pressure or something."

George scowled, a sticky roll nearly to his lips. "Bollocks."

"You don't know that Ron didn't feel a bit that way," Remus pointed out before gesturing to Draco and Ron. "Please— you were kind enough to invite us here, you've made this fabulous spread, and we should all sit and eat."

Ron looked at the seats available to him; he was stuck with George or Snape on one side of him, no matter what. The warm doughy aroma of the pastries was mouth-watering, however, and as his stomach made a well-timed rumble, he decided that George, even in his current snit, would be easier to cope with than Snape. Soon they were all eating, Remus and Draco discreetly assisting Snape so that his condition was almost unnoticeable.

"We should send him a reply," Remus suggested after a time, peeling an orange and picking off the white, veiny tendrils before placing the slices on Snape's plate.

"We could each send him something," George chimed in. "He'd feel pretty important if he got five scrolls at once."

"I'm surprised your mother hasn't—" Draco began just as Pig hooted excitedly, having flown in through a window Ron had opened to let in the tangy, crisp autumnal air. Draco barely kept from rolling his eyes, and Ron knew how much effort it must have taken him. "Speaking of."

Ron dashed off a quick reply to his mum while George made affectionately disparaging comments to the Weasley family owl.

"Yes, we should each write Xavier," Snape concurred. "Lupin, will you escort me to the library? I'll need my dicta-quill."

"Of course," Remus said warmly.

George appeared to pretend that the exchange hadn't happened, instead turning his attentions to Ron as he rolled up the scrap note and fastened it back on to Pig's leg. "I've got to get on to Wheeze's. I'll write him from there, maybe send him something… Hufflepuffish," he said doubtfully before turning to Draco. "Malfoy, fancy a tie?"

Draco's look was mutinous. All Ron could do was shake his head.

* * * * *

After a time, the shock of Xavier's House wore off, and Ron threw himself gratefully into his work at St. Mungo's. He had his hands full, though not with particularly challenging patients. Ron found himself with a particularly challenging French intern, Jean-Luc Troyenne. He was exceptionally bright and his Healer's techniques were literally note-worthy; Ron had hurried back to his office at one point two weeks into Jean-Luc's stay to write down the particular gesture and nuance the young man had used in an otherwise standard equilibrium test. He didn't show up late, or hung over, traits that Ron had come to expect from his prior intern from Birmingham. Jean-Luc was the talk of all the female St. Mungo's staff. Ron's assistant Hyacinth even seemed taken with him, and she was totally devoted to her fiancée.

Ron should have been ecstatic to have someone as helpful and gracious as Jean-Luc, with bloody good bedside manner to top it off, despite having only just completed his studies at St. Etienne and almost no real experience under his belt. The young French Healer didn't even mind helping transcribe Ron's notes, written only approximately with his dicta-quill, or filing endless rolls of parchments, or fetching cups of tea. He was the ideal intern: enthusiastic, charming, and indecently attractive. The only problem? He'd also become smitten with Ron, to his utter shock and bewilderment.

By mid-October, Ron found himself in the unexpected position of seeking advice from Remus, sharing pints with him on a blustery Saturday afternoon. He'd not said anything to Draco, as he figured his bondmate would just tell him to enjoy it, and George wouldn't be of any help either. Remus was now on his second go 'round of being a Professor at Hogwarts, and might know what it was like to be in a position of authority and have someone inappropriate seemingly wanting to get into your pants.

"Is it really all that bad?" Remus asked after taking a swallow of dark lager.

Ron nodded vigourously. "It is! Other people don't really see it, though. All the witches kept asking me if he had a girlfriend back in France and I finally asked Jean-Luc myself. Not like intern and supervisor, but just friendly-like, y'know, one evening when we were getting ready to leave the hospital."

He paused, lifting his own glass and taking a pull on his ale. "Jean-Luc looked at me, in his trousers that flatter him everywhere and perfect, slightly tan skin with the hint of his five o'clock shadow and said, 'No, Ronald. Now I am single. But before, there was a someone. Roget.'" Ron was doing a pretty good job emulating his intern's accent, or so he guessed by Remus' amused expression.

"Roget," Remus echoed. "That's not a female name."

Ron gave Remus a look of disbelief, his brow furrowing. "No it's not. He's queer, but its subtle, which is why I didn't pick up on it at first, and the rest of the staff hasn't either."

"And this is a problem why?" Remus asked innocently.

"Because it's awkward! I can tell he's thinking about me in ways he shouldn't. I sometimes catch him just looking at me, I mean, I guess it's respect or something, but sometimes I feel like he's— oh, bloody hell, this sounds so ridiculous, because nobody would ever be ogling me, of all people…"

Remus made a disapproving noise in his throat. "Surely you don't think Draco is the only person who's ever found you attractive?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders, non-committal. "It's like Jean-Luc's undressing me with his eyes. I know that sounds like utter shite, or something out of a bad novel, but it's the truth!"

Remus gazed speculatively at him, his wide-knuckled fingers smearing condensation on his glass. "Aren't you flattered?"

Ron's insides squirmed a bit before he answered. "Well, yeah, but… It's not like I haven't mentioned Draco. I'm wearing a handfasting band. And I'm his bloody supervisor! I'm probably eight years older than he is. He's really subtle about it, at least when there are other people around, but it's noticeable when it's just the two of us. He's always so close, finding ways to compliment me without it sounding like rubbish, and even dropping hints about being open minded and discreet."

Remus' eyebrows raised. "Okay. Maybe you do have something to be worried about."

"Thank you," Ron said bitterly, draining half of his ale. "Of course it's flattering; he's young and smells brilliant, this scent of cloves, foreign air, and innocence." He barked a laugh. "Now I sound like something out of a bad novel."

Remus snorted lightly into his glass. "Well, as someone who has had the very occasional student express an inappropriate interest in me, I wager that if you remain professional and don't rise to any bait or suggestions, his crush will pass." His golden eyes harboured so much worldliness; Ron knew of the tragedies Remus had suffered in his life before coming to an unexpected peace that had led to being handfasted to George. It was unsettling, the way Remus seemed to look into Ron, rather than at him. "I suppose the weightier question is whether you're worried that you'd want to act on any of these propositions, currently unspoken."

Discomfort wriggled and burrowed uninvited in Ron's stomach. That was the real issue; trust Remus to get straight to it.

"Not in any real sense," Ron found himself saying, idly smearing a wet path on the tabletop. "He's not my type, whatever that is. I'm handfasted, so I wouldn't even consider it, and I'd never do that to Draco. I wouldn't want to. I _don't_ want to," he said decisively, at last stalwart enough to look Remus in the face. "Honest. But it's pretty strange, knowing he's so keen. And I'm not bored with Draco or anything. At all. I'm just human, and Jean-Luc…"

Sympathy and understanding were scrubbed into Remus' features as he regarded Ron, nodding. "You're saying you've simply acknowledged that your intern is good looking, that his obtuse suggestions for one on one recreation haven't left you totally unaffected, but you've no wish to pursue them?"

Ron let out a deep breath. "Yes. Exactly." The relief at being understood unwound the tighter knots in his torso and he smiled, draining the rest of his heady ale. "It's surreal in loads of ways— and no, I really haven't had a queue of guys think that I was the catch, or the good-looking one. S'pose this is good for my ego, but I can't help but feel guilty when he shows up in my dreams."

He signalled to their server, ordering a second round and a shot of firewhiskey for good measure. Though he certainly wasn't attracted to Remus in any kind of physical sense, he could understand how his brother, in that compelling pull of opposites, would find himself well matched and happy with the older man across the table. Remus had a way of diffusing chaos and frustration simply by being. No doubt George saw the more Marauder-like parts to Remus' personality in contexts Ron didn't need to consider. Ron had made his admission, been given sound advice, and felt more at peace than he had in weeks.

"In your dreams?" A tawny eyebrow raised toward Remus' forehead, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Well, sure. Since the War I've had vivid dreams," Ron explained, raising his shot glass to Remus in a silent salute before tossing it back. Merlin, but he loved that fiery trail through his chest of a first shot of something potent. He couldn't get shit-faced, though, as there was no point and he didn't want to have to explain himself to Draco.

Remus nodded slightly. "I dream a lot, too. Don't know if it's the lycanthropy, or my rather colourful life, or just part of being who I am."

"Seph kept wanting to analyse my dreams, while she was here," Ron said with a muffled laugh, remembering some of the letters his very-distant Weasley relative had written from Hogwarts. He only hoped she'd not ever gone to Trelawney for any of her insight into his subconscious.

"She's well?" Remus queried, glancing briefly at his watch.

"Yeah— no doubt she and Xavier are still quill mates, and he's filling up rolls of parchment telling her about his adventures. Glad he writes to us at least once a week, for now anyway."

A slow smile graced Remus' lips, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he did. "He's quite something. I never thought I'd see Severus take to a child — ever — much less one of such different lineage from his own."

Ron couldn't have agreed more. "Draco's been great, too. Don't know what we'll do if we get invited to Hogwarts for a Quidditch match, though. I'll eat broom polish on toast the day that Draco stands in the Hufflepuff section of the stands, I don't care how much he adores Xave."

Remus let out a low laugh before taking a long pull off of his second ale. "After the several years you've been together, I'd be careful what I say in regards to Mr. Malfoy, were I you. And I apologise, but I actually have a social appointment at your house with Severus. Chess," he elaborated.

"Dunno why he doesn't want to play me," Ron said without thinking, the thought catching up to him even as he shook his head. "Never mind; obviously it's the alcohol talking. He'd just as soon I be out of the picture as much as possible."

"Don't be uncharitable," Remus said, chiding him, though his voice was warm. His expression grew serious. "Do you mind doing another examination of him? My skills aren't nearly as well-honed or trained as yours."

Ron groaned. "Not again. Why can't you and Draco just convince him to go to St. Mungo's for a couple of days? We have all kinds of sophisticated equipment there, not just me and my wand."

"Yes, but he's too proud. Once Draco had him released, he vowed never to set foot in there again."

"Don't I know it."

Ron had heard Snape's vitriolic diatribes against his employer more times than he could count.

"Please, Ron."

The rare entreaty caused Ron to give Remus a piercing look after his finished his pint. Remus looked worried, which caused an entirely different kind of unpleasant feeling to pry fingers into his good spirits.

"All right," he acquiesced, vowing to prove once and for all that Severus was suffering not unexpected after-effects from months of taking anti-venom, combined with various Dark Magic curses and extensive time spent on the wrong end of a Cruciatus. "But not right now. You two have your… appointment," he twisted his mouth to the side, "and I need to go to Diagon for some more writing supplies. See you at the Manor in a couple of hours. Oh! Remus?"

Remus looked up from his hands where he'd been counting out a few Galleons and Knuts to pay for his drinks. "Yes?"

"Thank you. No words to George of course, right?" Ron knew he didn't really need to spell that out, but he wanted to be sure Remus kept Ron's discomforts and minor tribulations to himself.

"Of course."

The kindliness in Remus' weathered face helped Ron recover his sense of tranquility. "I'm honoured that you wanted to talk to me about your situation," Remus said, getting up from their booth. "If it seems to be getting out of hand, just owl me, or firecall. I'll always keep your confidence. And for what it's worth, from my observances of him, I'm sure that Draco can handle knowing what's on your mind. It's both blessing and burden, having someone who knows you so well, and trusts you implicitly."

Ron pondered Remus' parting words as he sat in the booth for a time, smoking a cigarette before going out into the busy streets of Diagon Alley. An eerie, haunting noise caused him to look out the window, where he saw a wizard clutch too late as his hat was blown off his head. _Must be the wind,_ he mused, not looking forward to being pummelled by the gusts tearing through the cobblestone paths. He couldn't postpone his trip indefinitely, so after figuring out a decent tip, he pulled on his coat and went out to battle the wind.

It was a relief to enter the sanctuary of Flourish and Blotts; Ron's ears and cheeks burned from the gale outside. He took his time navigating the aisles of parchments, envelopes, quills, inks and all other sorts of accoutrement that could possibly have to do with the art and craft of writing. He'd never been much of a correspondent with anyone, never kept a journal, and he knew his handwriting was pretty atrocious. With Xavier now at school a year earlier than expected, he'd found himself writing short letters to him on a regular basis. It hadn't taken Ron long to go through what few pieces of stationery he had, and he'd resorted to asking Draco for parchment and borrowing his quill or Muggle biro until Draco had told him to get his own bloody paper. That was only fair, Ron thought as he looked at a box of stationery with peacock feathers on it. Xavier was fond of the few remaining albino peacocks that still roamed the Manor ground; maybe he'd get that, even if it did look a bit poncy…

"Ron! I did not expect to zee you here!"

Ron straightened up so quickly one of his vertebrae popped and he winced. Jean-Luc walked toward him, looking even more handsome than usual in his Muggle attire and not his Healer's robes. The heathered camel colour of his pullover brought out the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, and he wore a maroon scarf thrown jauntily over his shoulder. Everything in his carriage, how he held himself, bespoke of confidence but not arrogance. With a start, Ron recognised how similar his demeanour was to Draco's. No wonder Ron was feeling such jolts of guilty familiarity; not only were they spending much of every day together, but Jean-Luc's masculine grace and poise was uncannily similar to his bondmate's. Ron's libido could be forgiven just a little bit for its indiscretion, or so he hoped since a buzzing thrum of interest had decided to stir faintly between his legs.

_Oh fuck._

Jean-Luc looked at the stationery Ron was holding in his hands, then back to at Ron, who realised he'd not even given a return greeting.

"Hi, Jean-Luc. Yeah, I'm not in here all that often. My nephew, y'know, the one who lives with us and is off at Hogwarts—"

"Xavier?" Jean-Luc interjected, perhaps to confirm that he had been listening when Ron had told him about his somewhat complicated family life.

"Yeah. I write him once a week, but I'd never been much of a letter writer, before. Draco suggested I get my own paper instead of nicking off with his all the time."

Jean-Luc edged closer so they were nearly touching, the faint spicy clove scent Ron had mentioned to Remus wafting to his senses. "Does Xavier like les paons? Peacocks?" he asked, enunciating the last word even though he kept an innocent expression on his face.

Ron had a sudden vision of his intern naked and strutting around like one of the birds. He imagined his lean body with a beckoning dark trail continuing down from the bit of chest hair Ron had seen peeking out under a button-down Jean-Luc had worn partly open one day. Ron mentally slapped himself and tried to banish the continuation of the scenario, which seemed to involve his intern gazing longingly at him with his large eyes, and sinking to his knees before pressing his face into Ron's groin.

"We have a few ancient ones," Ron replied to the question, embarrassed at the crack in his voice. "Draco's father had albino peacocks. Xave likes them. But I think maybe something a bit plainer would be better," he soldiered on, putting the box back on the shelf, wondering how many times he could mention Draco's name without sounding like an idiot.

Jean-Luc nodded agreeably, letting his gaze flicker down Ron's body and back before tilting his head and sniffing the air. "I need to get supplies for writing my friends, too." He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Do not think I'm prying, but have you been to zee pub?"

Ron cursed the flush he felt flaming at the tips of his ears. "Yeah, I met up with my brother's partner and had a couple of pints. It _is_ Saturday," he said defensively.

"Oh! I did not mean to offend," Jean-Luc exclaimed, placing a hand on Ron's shoulder and squeezing it. "You smell very good. I will be meeting Michael and Eustace at zee… badger?"

Ron noted that Jean-Luc hadn't removed his hand, but instead curled it over the knobby bone of his shoulder. He was tall, not quite as tall as Ron, but close enough that they saw nearly eye to eye.

"The Belligerent Badger?" Ron clarified, damning his vivid imagination that had continued through the tryst in his mind. It now featured Jean-Luc's distinctively long fingers grasping Ron's naked arse, and his lips and tongue doing amazing things to Ron's cock while Ron kneaded his hands through the young Frenchman's wavy hair.

"Yes. Would you like to join us? I'm sure they would not mind."

Jean-Luc removed his hand to rummage through a trouser pocket and pulled out some lip balm, using two fingers to coat his lips with the salve. He rubbed his lips together and Ron forced himself to focus on getting out of the shop, or at least away from his intern and get his hormones under control.

"No, but thanks," Ron said, hoping he sounded sincere. He didn't mind the other two blokes who both worked at the hospital, but it was only too easy for Ron to envision getting nice and buzzed and feeling Jean-Luc's hand on his leg, or wandering elsewhere. Why would Ron ever let anything like that happen? Why did he find it remotely appealing? He was overly conscious of the heaviness in his cock; not hard, really, but not totally inert either.

"Maybe Draco and I will have you over sometime, and I can introduce you two. You could see the peacocks," Ron ventured on lamely, berating himself for practically inviting his intern over without mentioning it to Draco first.

Jean-Luc's eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be wonderful. I would love to see zis large manor where you live. And Draco is very handsome," he said coyly, his lips curling to one side. Ron knew he'd seen the black and white photograph Colin had taken from their handfasting that he kept in a frame on his desk. "You are both very lucky, Draco especially."

Ron didn't know how to respond to that. It was obvious that Jean-Luc batted for his team, and he was French. Merlin only knew what kind of ideas he had in mind— a threesome? Surely not. Like Remus said, Ron just needed to be sure he wasn't leading his intern on.

"I'd say that I'm the lucky one. We've been handfasted nearly three years now, and were together a couple of years before that. I'm just glad he puts up with me. I'm not always the easiest person to live with."

A look of wistful longing settled on Jean-Luc's features and Ron was inexplicably struck with guilt. "Sorry, Jean-Luc," he said, his face a faint grimace of apology. "I know you said you used to be with somebody, and maybe you are now— it's not my business, really. I don't mean to rub your nose in it or anything."

"Rub my nose?" Jean-Luc said, obviously perplexed.

Ron turned to face him, keeping his voice down as Jean-Luc hung on his words. "I hope I didn't make you feel bad because I'm paired off and happy. When I was your age, my best friend had been killed, I was a real bloody mess, and I didn't know what to think about the fact that I liked blokes. I was pretty miserable there for a while."

"I have always had passion for men. It is not so much a big deal for me, where I live," Jean-Luc said earnestly, reaching out to rub his hand on Ron's forearm.

_Maybe the French are just more touchy-feely,_ Ron thought to himself, remembering Fleur's effusive behaviour.

"Don't worry for me," Jean-Luc said more softly, his tone confiding. "I miss Roget, but truly, he was a prick. I deserve better."

A warm air of camaraderie breezed through Ron and his discomfort faded. "You certainly do. You're a really great guy, Jean-Luc," Ron said, meaning every word. "You're an incredibly talented Healer, and I'm so glad you're interning with me. And I probably shouldn't say this, but you must know you're pretty easy on the eyes. No doubt there'll be guys queuing up to try and go out with you, if they think you're interested."

Jean-Luc's challenging gaze and melancholy tone punctured Ron's feelings of comfort at being in protective big brother mode.

"Yes. Well, there is someone in whom I'm interested, but he seems not to feel the same way. Or perhaps he does, but he doesn't think he should do anything about it. I would reassure him that it would not affect my work, and I would not come between him and his lover. Partner. However you call him."

Hot, then cold flashed up and down Ron's spine. Jean-Luc had put his intentions out in the open, and Ron was caught totally off-guard. Yes, it was flattering, and unlike the winsome, earnest, pheromone-oozing young man right next to him, Ron did not now and never had had a slew of men wanting to be with him. But Ron had no intentions of walking down the path of infidelity, even if Jean-Luc believed it wouldn't affect their working relationship. It would most certainly come between Draco and him. Ron had a pair of bollocks, he just needed to ignore the traitorous wishes of the cock above them.

"Can we go outside? I think we should talk about this somewhere else," Ron said firmly, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading for the door.

Frustrated irritation gnawed at him. Why had this happened? Jean-Luc should never have put him in this awkward situation. Once outside, the wind tore at them and Ron let out a growl of anger. The world seemed to be conspiring against him. Jean-Luc had put on gloves and pulled up his collar, looking hopeful until he saw Ron's displeasure. Ron was sure it radiated off of him.

"It is not good talking weather," Jean-Luc insisted, his forehead furrowed.

"No," Ron agreed. "But this won't take long. Well, when are you meeting Eustace and Michael?"

Jean-Luc pushed back a coat sleeve to look at his watch. "Forty-five minutes from now."

"Let's Apparate near the Belligerent Badger. I won't keep you that long, but this wind's a bloody menace," Ron said scathingly.

Jean-Luc nodded, vanishing with a _crack!_ as Ron focussed his intentions and thoughts on the street by the pub. Jean-Luc had picked a point a half-block away in the opposite direction, so they met at the door. Ron pushed it open, ruing the whole situation. He wished the tangled threads of his work, libido, this keen young man and Ron's exclusive life with Draco were all separate and not interfering with each other. Maybe it showed just how naïve he was; Ron really hadn't thought Jean-Luc would be so bold. As Jean-Luc went to a booth, Ron shouted their pints and took them to the table. Jean-Luc sat, his expression again distressingly Draco-like, inscrutable and defensive. Ron had thought the young man might get tipsy at the St. Mungo's Christmas party and say something inappropriate — loads of people did that, himself included — but Ron just hadn't expected him to be so blatant in the middle of Flourish and Blotts. It was all unnerving. He took a healthy swallow before organising his thoughts and looking Jean-Luc square in the face.

"I'm flattered. Really, I am. But nothing is going to happen between us. Not only am I your supervisor, but I'm bound to Draco. That's by choice, and love, and all kinds of other things. He and I have never talked about having any kind of open relationship, but I can tell you that it's really not even worth bringing up."

He paused, waiting to see Jean-Luc's reaction. Ron's mood was murky; he felt manipulated and yet, his ego couldn't help but be stroked by the attention. It made him frustrated with himself. Jean-Luc took a couple of pulls on his pint before running his fingers through his tousled hair. He twisted his lips to the side, suddenly seeming far older than his years.

"I like working with you, Ron," he said finally, taking another drink and then putting the glass off to the side. "Yes, I have some envy of zis relationship you have with your Draco. I think you, too, are a talented Healer. I am learning so very much. I have you to thank."

He intertwined his fingers in an inverted steeple, tapping his long thumb on his index finger. He studied it until he looked up again, resignation etched onto his elegant features. "I am sorry if I have made you unhappy with me. Where I come from, it is not uncommon for a student to learn many things from his mentor. Not all of these things have to do with work, especially if there is a pull between them. A feeling that is deeper. I have that for you, you don't for me. I understand," he finished with a refined shrug.

Ron tried to figure out the best way to thank his intern for his honesty, but still let him know that for him, at this point in time, nothing could happen between them.

"I'm not unhappy with you, not at all. You're a tremendous asset to St. Mungo's, and I know that won't change. And man to man, taking work out of the picture, yeah, if things in my life were different, I'd probably be reciprocating your feelings. but things aren't different, and I hope you can understand that."

They sat in strained silence for a few moments until Jean-Luc spoke again.

"I do understand. It is too bad that I cannot share some things I wish I could. Maybe later, maybe not. I am still glad to learn from you. Healing things," he said, reaching out a hand to clasp Ron's in his. "I still say that Draco is lucky. I would like to meet zis man who you are so loyal to, if that is okay."

Ron squeezed Jean-Luc's fingers, relief coursing through him again now that all seemed to be well. He found himself exceedingly grateful that this had all happened today. Monday morning he could look forward to getting back to work without the burden of Jean-Luc's unspoken desires hanging over him.

"I'm sure Draco would be more than happy to have you over sometime. I'll bring it up with him and find a weekend coming up when he's not too busy. Sound good?"

A subdued smile settled on Jean-Luc's lips. "Yes."

The conversation segued to Jean-Luc's plans of distinctively English activities and sights he wanted to see before going home at Christmas. Ron gave a few suggestions as he finished his pint and then took his leave, knowing Jean-Luc's friends would be arriving shortly. It was only when he got home that he realised how wrung out he was from both conversations, and he decided to indulge in a rare nap. Snatches of both discussions tumbled through his mind as he lay down on his bed, pulling up a blanket to cover himself.

"Never got any bloody parchment," he mumbled before letting his eyes drift shut.

* * * * *

It was a little over a week later that Ron lounged against the arm of the sofa, pops and faint hissing sounds bursting cheerily from the fireplace. The room was warm and comforting, something he'd never expected to feel when he'd first begun spending time at the Manor a couple of years ago. Draco had spelled the music from his downstairs kitchen to play unobtrusively in the study, some Muggle band whose lead singer had a very sexy voice. As Cousteau's low baritone crooned, Ron let his eyes drift shut. His fingers laced across Draco's stomach, who sat in the vee of Ron's legs reading a glossy brochure about a week-long pastry workshop taking place in Amsterdam. Blooming from nowhere, Ron felt a tenderness for Draco so strong it burned in his chest. He thought of trying to say something: _Thanks for putting up with me; Thanks for knowing I'm not an idiot and believing in me; I really would fall apart if anything happened to you._

Instead, he let his hands ease down to Draco's groin, feathering against the soft flannel of his pyjama bottoms. Not sensing resistance, he continued a slow, intent massage of his inner thighs, eventually moving upward to stroke over the hard mound between Draco's legs. Draco let out a throaty hum of curiosity, settling back against Ron's chest.

"Something on your mind?" he drawled lazily, turning his neck so he could glance up into Ron's face. The tone in his voice let Ron know that Draco might not be feeling the same sappy affection that Ron was, but evidently he seemed similarly inclined for some physical communion.

Ron cupped the soft sacs through Draco's flannels, the other hand meandering underneath his waistband to pull gently on his stiffening cock. He leaned down to kiss Draco, the angle awkward but not impossible, especially as Draco arched up into Ron's hand and craned his neck so he could kiss Ron more deeply. Their tongues slid and parried together while Ron found his attentions torn between the hard length in his hand and his own erection pressing against his tracksuit bottoms.

Draco broke from the kiss to nuzzle against the side of Ron's neck. "Want to go to our room?" he asked, a husky burr roughening his voice. The sultry sound and faint lingering scent of fresh bread still in Draco's hair were Ron's undoing. He didn't want to leave the warm cave-like feeling of the room, he wanted them to be naked and he wanted to be holding onto his lover's lean torso, bringing them both pleasure in front of the fire. Now.

"Too much trouble," Ron said, his own voice thick with arousal and yearning. "Just Accio my tea tree oil lube, will you? I want us out of our clothes and to be sliding deep into you right here."

Draco let out a keening, needy sound of assent. He summoned the slick while they made short work of getting undressed. Draco padded over to an overstuffed chair and tugged a knitted throw off of it, handing it to Ron who spread it out on the couch. They resumed their slow, full-body caresses, facing each other at first, sharing wet heat of open-mouthed kisses and Ron holding their hard shafts in hand. Up and down he stroked, relishing the moment when Draco again pulled back from their kissing with a breathy moan. Draco sucked and kissed alongside Ron's jaw to breathe hot, moist air in Ron's sensitive ear, sending his clever tongue around until Ron made a strangled, desperate sound.

Draco didn't say a word, but Ron felt the smile against his skin before Draco turned to lie on his back. He lay still for a moment in concentration, doubtless casting a cleansing spell, before edging his arm under Ron's ribcage, pulling him close. Ron's blood pounded in his chest, his aching cock sliding under Draco's furred sacs, easing back and forth while Draco moaned, his eyes falling shut. Ron continued to frot against him, leaning over to snatch the lubricant off of the side table and coating his cock.

He looked over at Draco, his eyes open again, the pupils dilated from the dim light and lust. Draco's gaze smouldered as he pulled up his right leg, his body taut and almost trembling with such want that Ron's heart seemed to stumble in its rhythm. He guided his shaft and pushed steadily into Draco's body. Draco shuddered and sighed, his tight muscles drawing Ron in, his clenching grip smooth like the inside of a glove.

"Fuck, feel so good," Ron moaned, beginning a slow, resolute in and out movement like the pendulum on a clock. The tension mounted as he found himself speeding up until his hips were snapping with a need for more friction. They kissed, groans and sighs of pleasure punctuating the air when they broke apart to breathe, panting. Draco took himself in hand, pistoning on his jutting cock as he brought himself closer to release, a flush blooming up his neck. Ron slowed his loving assault to lean down, pulling one of Draco's hard nubs in his teeth. Draco cried out, his fingers claw-like and raking Ron's back. He squeezed around Ron, so deep and velvety. Ron's orgasm came pouring out of him, pulsing waves of relief and devotion as he mouthed dry kisses on Draco's chest, breathing heavily.

A few moments later and Draco's body contorted as he came, a feral, near-anguished cry tumbling out of his mouth. Ron lay protectively through his lover's aftershocks until Draco's hand stilled and he let his head fall back onto the couch, eyes closed and a tiny furrow between his pale eyebrows. Once Ron had regained a bit of composure he uncoupled them, adjusting their legs so they were intertwined and they lay on their sides, facing each other. In a languid gesture, Draco reached out and pulled Ron's long fringe behind one ear, a secretive ghost of a smile on his lips as he listed closer to Ron's chest.

"That was unexpected," he said, wetting his dry lips.

"Wouldn't want you getting bored, now would I?"

"I don't think we'll ever have to worry about that," Draco said meaningfully, rolling away far enough to get his wand. He cast needed cleansing spells before Ron spooned up next to him again, utterly at peace, his post-sex afterglow diffused all the way to the soles of his feet.

"Are you happy?" Ron asked quietly, not certain why that question had emerged out into the open. Since his conversation with Remus and Jean-Luc's blatant come-on, Ron had been overly sensitive to Draco and his moods. Draco's most innermost thoughts, hopes, fears— those he nearly always kept to himself. It wasn't out of spite, Ron knew that, it was just that Draco by nature was much more closeted and cautious with his feelings. Perhaps due to his own slightly shaken self-perceptions thanks to Jean-Luc's appeal, Ron found himself anxiously wanting to hear Draco say that they were okay.

Draco's expression was one of intrigue, but less guarded than usual. "Yes, actually, I am. You mean in the general sense, I take it? Happy here? Happy with our situation? Being handfasted to you?"

"Well, yeah. All of it. Just checking, y'know."

Ron wasn't thrilled at how uncertain he sounded, but they'd been through enough for him to trust that Draco knew it was only his own insecurities he was voicing. Given the sympathetic look in Draco's eyes, still soft doubtless due to his own sated lassitude, Draco had nailed the source of the question.

"Are _you_?" he asked, sliding up just enough to be able to rest his head in the crook of Ron's neck. "Did something happen I should know about?" His tone had taken on a chilly edge, though he kept his body language neutral.

"No. No, Draco, nothing happened," Ron flailed before the details of the whole awkward, but resolved issues with Jean-Luc came pouring out of him. Draco's hand had rested on Ron's upper thigh as Ron recounted his conversations, at last fanning out to squeeze the slight angle of Ron's hip once he quit speaking.

"We should have him over," Draco said firmly, leaning his head back so he could regard Ron's face. "And you can tell me when you've got something on your mind, too. I know I get caught up in my deadlines and schedule and worrying about Severus, but I'm not unobservant. I was hoping you'd have said something before now, actually. Trust me— if your cock ever led you somewhere else, I'd know about it as soon as you walked through the door. It's not even something I waste energy thinking about."

"You have an infidelity charm built into the wards?" Ron spluttered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "For Merlin's sake, Ron. You wear your feelings on your bloody sleeve. Number one, you wouldn't sleep with someone else because the guilt would eat you alive. Number two, it'd be all over your face if you were even considering it and I'd ask you what the hell was wrong until you told me."

He paused, the stormy expression on his face receding. Ron lay beside him, both irritated and boundlessly grateful that Draco indeed knew him at least as well as he knew himself. But he'd been confidante and partner to Draco for several years, and their years of school-aged animosity and calculated observation meant he was certain Draco that had something else to say.

"And you wouldn't because of how I'd feel if you did. No fuck would be worth that to you," Draco said, his voice clipped and brittle.

"I don't even want to think about it," Ron said, feeling off-center and loose-limbed, as though he were sliding down a steep, slippery trail. "There'll never be anyone else. You're the one for me."

"I know I am."

It was spoken with such surety, that declaration, and Ron almost trembled with the solidity suddenly underneath his emotional footing.

"I'll check up on Severus before bed, and give you my professional assessment."

To a stranger listening to their exchange, Ron's comment might have seemed like a complete non sequiter, but it was his way of thanking Draco for trusting him so absolutely. Draco would know exactly the greater meaning behind Ron's unsolicited offer. He confirmed that by nodding, his fine hair rustling against the rough stubble on Ron's jaw next to his goatee.

"Thanks. Don't piss him off."

"I won't."

Ron wasn't ready to let go of Draco for quite a while, but Draco didn't appear to mind.

* * * * *

Another couple of weeks passed; late autumn surrendered to an early, leaden winter. There was a brilliant, comet-like flash of joy the first week of November when Hermione announced her engagement to Dean Thomas. The two of them had become closer friends when they'd both applied and then been accepted to the University of St. Andrews, deciding to go on with Muggle tertiary degrees while remaining firmly entrenched in the Wizarding world. There was a raucous celebration for them, doubtless enhanced by Seamus' unique, no-holds-barred approach to hosting a party. Ron and Draco both attended, and while Ron knew full well that he had a far better time at the Gryffindor mini reunion, Draco kept his snide comments mostly to himself.

Harry's absence struck Ron keenly, though the dull pain of it didn't hit him until nearly a week afterward. He'd been brooding in front of the warm fire, a tumbler of scotch in hand, wondering why he'd been irritable since the engagement party. Like reluctant, watery rays of a winter dawn, realisation seeped into Ron's awareness.

"Harry wasn't there," he mused aloud, swirling the amber liquid in a slow circle. "Not in body, but he was there in spirit. No wonder you've been such an arse. You miss him."

Once he'd figured that out, his behaviour made more sense. Ron had been short-tempered with Jean-Luc over some stupid administrative parchments that normally he would've just sworn at and dealt with on a break over tea. He'd sent a thoughtless, not quite rude reply to his mum about hosting a Weasley-centric gathering for Hermione and Dean's upcoming wedding, since Hermione had been a part of their family all of those years at Hogwarts and some beyond that. He'd actually received a Howler in return, something he'd not seen in a few years, but his mother had been furious at the tone Ron had used. He'd firecalled to apologise, of course, and burned the scarlet evidence in the living room fireplace so Draco wouldn't ask about it.

In fact, the only reason Draco had been spared Ron's erratic temper and cold shoulder was due to their work hours being almost perfectly out of sync. Ron had agreed to cover McWiggan's shift for three days while he finished out his holiday, which meant that Ron as at St. Mungo's at nights. Ron would come home mid-morning and chat with Draco in the warmth of his phenomenal kitchen until he couldn't keep his eyes open. They'd slept apart for four days, which unsurprisingly hadn't improved Ron's spirits any.

Gazing at the fire, letting his eyes unfocus, Ron sagged into the chair, his exhaustion bowling him over. He'd wanted to stay up until Draco got home from some posh event he was catering, and he also felt he should check up on Snape's condition. Before he did, though, Ron had a short chat with Harry, at least a one-sided one. It had been several years since his best friend and wished-for lover had been killed, but on occasion, Ron couldn't help but speak aloud to him.

"Things're okay," he said, reassuring himself as much as the memory of Harry that he held, treasured, in his heart. "Just really missed you at this blow-out for Hermione. Surprised she waited this long. Out of the three of us, I'd never've guessed I'd get married — well, handfasted — before you two, much less to Draco."

He leaned his head down, rubbing the back of his sore neck. Ron wasn't used to sleeping by himself anymore and he'd discovered that he surrounded himself with pillows to make up for it, but he also slept at an odd angle, which didn't help.

"I wonder who you would've ended up with," he pondered, not checking the melancholy he felt. "Wished it could've been me, at least back then. But I'm happy with Draco. Really. Honest to Merlin," he mumbled before downing the rest of the scotch and placing the glass on a nearby table. "I was chatted up by my bloody intern. Good bloke, actually. But I wasn't interested, not really. Y'know, I think we're gonna make it. A lifetime…"

Ron's voice drifted off. "Oh! And Xave's in Hufflepuff. Crazy. No, Ron, you're the one who should wonder about his sanity, talking to the air."

He knew that the Harry he held in his mind's eye wouldn't be troubled. Still, Ron needed to get about his business for the evening before he collapsed, the primary responsibility being to perform an auralic on Snape. Sighing, Ron levered up from his chair and meandered down the corridor to Snape's room. Draco was off catering a function and wouldn't be back until late that night. Ron wished he were at the Manor, that way if Snape did get all blustery and difficult, he could get Draco to appeal to the sliver of Snape's gentle side. Well, gentler side. He paused at the door, knowing Snape could sense him, and then knocked.

"Go away."

"Sorry," Ron muttered as he opened the door, because he was. He was sorry that he had to deal with Draco's former Head of House, and sorry for himself. Snape lay on his bed, reading. Ron had crafted a stand of sorts he could lay over his lap, which allowed Snape to read without holding the book or casting a hovering charm on it. He glowered; Ron ignored it. This was all part of the usual routine.

"I'm fine," Snape growled, though a tremour on his left side bespoke otherwise.

"I know you are. But Draco'll have my head on one of his fancy platters if I don't do your auralic. I'll be done soon."

With practised gestures and channeled healing energy, Ron took his usual perfunctory scan, finding nothing new. Snape's condition had neither improved nor worsened, and he was as diabolically cranky as ever.

"I could firecall Remus, ask him to come over," Ron offered when he was finished and sat at a chair at Snape's bedside.

"Lupin will be here on Thursday," Snape snarled, giving Ron what in the past would have been a heart-stopping glare. By now Ron was used to it, and simply shrugged. He waited for a few minutes to see if Snape had anything else to say, or bark at him. "The Granger girl. She's getting married?"

Surprised, Ron looked at Snape and nodded. "Yeah. She's marrying Dean Thomas. I don't know whether or not you got your own invite, but Draco indicated you'd be attending with us. And Xave, if we can get special permission from McGonagall to let him out for the week-end."

"Oh, she will." Snape's smile wasn't at all warm.

"Look, I'll have Draco come by once he gets in. Did Flissy—" He was silenced as the Malfoysian-inherited house-elf appeared with a loud _crack_.

"Yes! Flissy takes care of Professor Severus. He had the dinner I made, shepherd's pie and some grapes."

The house-elf seemed indignant that Ron had questioned her devotion to her indigent master; her long ears flapped and she wrung her bony hands.

"Great, great. Nobody needs me here, then."

Ron pushed himself out of the chair as Flissy tried to arrange Snape's bed coverings, only to be dealt a scathing but somehow affectionate lashing from the former Potions professor. Ron made his way to his and Draco's bedroom, pouring himself another small scotch and tossing it back before putting on his threadbare but comfortable pyjamas. He barely even looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, though he did make a note to shave in the morning. There was a healthy ginger growth along his jaw line. With a relieved sigh of pleasure he crawled into the empty bed and soon was asleep.

* * * * *

Groggily Ron found himself tugged to wakefulness, though the room was dark and he was alone. He flung out his arm and found that, indeed, Draco had come home, been in bed, and now was no longer there. Brow furrowed, Ron felt at the covers to see if his bondmate had just gotten out of bed, or had been gone a while. The sheets were rumpled and still held Draco's sandalwood scent, but they always smelled like that on his side unless the linens had been freshly laundered. Something was off; Ron felt his pulse begin to race as he bolted out of bed and promptly stubbed his pinky toe on the bedside table.

"Ow! Fuckfuckfuckthathurts," he gasped, trying to mash his toes against the carpet as though that would relieve the pain. It didn't, and Draco was still absent.

"Damn it all," Ron groused, hugging his arms to himself and wondering if Draco had gone to the kitchen or maybe the library. All at once a terrible premonition overtook him and he jogged down the corridors to Snape's room. Several feet away he slowed to a walk, seeing candlelight and filled with soul-numbing dread. He forced his feet of stone to plod forward until he stood in the doorway.

Draco sat in the same bedside chair Ron had occupied a few hours earlier. Candles levitated in a silent threnody, bobbing ever so slightly around a luminous, deceased Severus Snape. Draco's face was drawn, mask-like save the silent tear tracks that glistened in the warm light. He was like marble, a sculpture of grief. Ron felt trapped; he felt like a murderer. He'd done his auralic, what could have happened? Would Draco ever forgive him? He stumbled over his feet into the room; Draco didn't even look his way. Lost, angry, and realising he was the one making gravelly hiccoughs, Ron sank to the floor at Draco's feet and lay his head in his lover's lap.

"It's not your fault," Ron heard above his head as chilly fingers combed through his bed-mussed hair. "He died of natural causes, or as natural as they could be," Draco continued, his voice calm and distant. Ron shuddered, grasping at Draco's knees, wishing he didn't seem like such a baby.

"How can you be so calm?" he sniffed, looking over at Snape's impressive profile. Even in death, his expression was of one hunted.

"I'll fall apart later. When it happens, I trust you implicitly to pick up the pieces and put me back together."

Ron was so numb he couldn't even think of a reply. He kept his mouth shut and wished he felt nothing for the dead man in front of him.

"Xave," he finally croaked, struck at last that there were others besides Draco who would lament Snape's passing.

"I'll owl him in the morning. And McGonagall, and Lupin. I'll give him the funeral he deserves, Ron," Draco said fiercely before a sob overtook his words.

* * * * *  
Epilogue, three years later  
* * * * *

"How could you just let him go like that?" Ron blustered when he heard that Xavier had simply gone into the city. "You're mad! It's Amsterdam! He'll get stoned! Or drunk! Or chatted up by some bird!"

He only stopped when he realised that Draco hadn't refuted anything he'd said. It was infuriating. "What?"

Draco's long pointer finger tapped leisurely against his knee. "Yes, he might. He might do all of those things. But chances are he won't; guilt does run deep in at least part of the Weasley line."

Ron temporarily wanted to mash the smirk on Draco's face with his bare hand, but he didn't dare.

"Ron," Draco drawled in a rare placating manner. "I'm not an idiot. I mentioned just a few of the privileges he would lose either at home or at Hogwarts if you or I had to show up and drag him out of the gutter. He does still seem to care about keeping his broom, a steady supply of chocolate, and his bedroom door."

Sagging with relief, Ron shuffled to the icebox in their hotel room and retrieved an ale. He was definitely enjoying their temporary respite overseas, but an early-adolescent Xavier running wild in a city known for vices did make him a bit nervous. Chastened, he returned to the sitting room and sat next to his bondmate.

"I should've known you'd come up with logic he couldn't refuse."

"Of course you should've." The haughty, indomitable look morphed into one of caring. "I love him, you know."

"I know you do." Ron took a pull on his drink. "But look at us. We didn't exactly follow the rules at his age either."

"Speak for yourself."

Ron snorted at that ludicrous retort, but then noticed Draco's pensive look. Part of the reason why they'd gone on holiday at this time of year was not to be at the Manor for the anniversary of Snape's death, but Ron was certain the memory held court in Draco's spirit. "How are you doing?"

Draco took his time answering, which made Ron fidget.

"This is a rough time for me, as you know, but I've been worse. I'm grateful for the time we had with Severus, and I'm equally grateful that I continue to have day after day with you. And Xavier."

The comments fell from Draco's lips, precious, lazy gifts like red and saffron-coloured leaves caught by a breeze in autumn. Ron suddenly wanted nothing more than to have his lover with him, to tumble together, writhe and burn hot together until they were sated and sluggish.

"Fancy a shag while Xavier is out terrorising the natives?" An eye roll was all Ron deserved. "I take it that's a no."

With a slow smile, Draco put down his tea and wriggled out of his jeans. "It's as good a way as any to pass the time."

"That's romantic," Ron said dryly, easing his hand under the loose silk of Draco's boxers.

He loved feeling the soft, hot length, trusting he could take his time to stir Draco's cock to life and have a long, loving fuck. Draco let out a breathy groan, splaying his legs for Ron to grip his shaft and gently twist and slide up and down. The contact and the look of untroubled pleasure on Draco's face caused the passion to roil low in Ron's belly. Neediness seemed to consume Draco and he leaned over to kiss Ron, his tongue sliding in and around Ron's welcoming mouth, then sucking Ron's lower lip until he broke apart with a gasp.

"Right here and now, on the couch," he rasped.

"That's a bit more romantic." Ron's own erection now strained against his jeans.

"True enough, but just wait until Paris."

Then there was no need for words; clothes were shed and mounded on the floor. Through the blissful haze of their cocks rubbing together and the comforting, erotic weight of Draco's body on his, Ron managed a coherent sentence of hopeful gratitude.

"Let me know if I'm ever about to fuck things up with you," he said, looping the back of his ankles against his lover's calves.

"What made you think I'd ever stop letting you know?"

Contentment and incredulity sat cozily in Ron's chest; he wanted to trap them, and keep them there forever. Merlin, he was being such a sap.

"Less talking and more sex," Draco breathed hotly into Ron's ear.

"Well then, do what you need to do and fuck me so I can't think of anything to say."

Draco's pale hair hung about them like a sacred curtain. "Oh, I will."

Moments later, Draco was murmuring a litany of "fuck" and "gods," ploughing into Ron's willing body. Ron was focussed on the feeling of their bodies moving in familiar, but satisfying thrusts and was caught by surprise when he felt his eyes burning. He tried not to sniff, but couldn't help it, wiping at his nose even as he continued to pull up and down on his prick. Draco slowed down, looking concerned.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked.

"No. Just, I don't know. Ignore it," Ron begged, rogue tracks now leaking from his eyes.

Draco shook his head before lodging deep within Ron's muscles, leaning down and licking away the tears. "There's no shame, Ron, for having emotions in life. Don't be embarrassed."

"Easy for you to say." Ron's voice was more gravelly than usual, and he rocked his hips to try and get Draco back into action.

A few more thrusts later, Draco paused again, the flitting thoughtful look on his face not as incongruous as Ron thought it should have been given what they were doing. "Actually, the only reason I can say that at all is because of you."

A sob tried to escape Ron's throat, but he took two shuddering breaths instead, forestalling a scene he really didn't want to have happen right then. "I love you too. What happened to less talking and more sex?"

Draco claimed his mouth with a passionate kiss, dark and burning with understanding.

And afterwards, when the thunder of release had slowed to ebbing waves and Ron shed hot tears of being beloved, he felt no shame; Draco used only wordless, mouthed kisses to tell Ron that he was very, very far away from fucking things up.

. . : ~ end ~ : . .


End file.
